Copilot
by Arait
Summary: The first time Fushimi rode in Scepter 4's agency choppers he didn't touch anything. One-shot of a couple of Fushimi's early Blue Clan days.
_**This OS is based on a true story. No really. The first two sentences are 98% Arait's real life experiences. After that, her imagination took the yolk.**_

 ** _Sorry for not updating AGW in a while. We got really stuck on some pointless filler. As they call writer's block in French: the agony of a white page._**

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The first time Fushimi rode in Scepter 4's agency choppers he didn't touch anything. As data engineer and representative of the Intelligence Division for the case, he hadn't yet been made part of the Special Duty Corps and was, therefore, very unaccustomed to working with the top ranking members of the clan. He wasn't, by any means, an unassuming or timid person by that point in his life. Even the fact that he had only been a blue clansman for a few months hadn't prevented him from acting as he pleased.

Still, he had absolutely no knowledge of how aircraft stayed aloft. They assigned him to copilot's position to best serve his role, and he glanced around at the never before seen view. In contrast to the dashboard of cars, dozens of instruments lined every free inch of paneling which he knew could send them spiraling to their deaths with just one wrong bump. Only a fool would carelessly give leeway for their limbs to roam about. There was more than one such fool back in that place...

He decided he must look like a total nutcase straining to be so motionless.

The ledge of the door was too narrow to serve as an armrest, so he kept his elbows glued to his sides and opened up his laptop. His hands didn't leave the keyboard except to shut off the equipment before they landed back at base.

His eyes remained fixed upon his screen for the duration of the flight as well. The few times he had tried to look out the window or artificial horizon his head had swirled from the yaw and pitch. He wasn't afraid of heights, but he was grateful that he had hardly eaten anything that day. Even the slightest breeze tossed them about chaotically.

The white noise of the rotors grated on his nerves in spite of the padded headset they'd given him. He swore to himself if they made him do this again he'd go online and buy himself a real pair of noise cancelling headphones. A few weeks later it became clear that would be necessary.

The second time he rode the pilot had unexpectedly been incapacitated by his allergic reaction to being stung by a bee in the cockpit. The only other person licensed to fly the bird, Kamo Ryuhou, was also the only one familiar with treating anaphilactic shock. One of his children had a similarly dangerous allergy, so he was fully occupied giving emergency medical care. No one else in the aerial vehicle dared reach out to take the unattended controls.

Fushimi, once again acting data engineer for the flight, had been entirely preoccupied with his laptop. He had effectively been put in charge of traffic control for their fleet, which in his mind translated to clearing all roads and airspace of any traffic other than theirs. Occasionally he provided useful information to one of the helicopter pilots without any concern to receiving a response. The volume on his headset had been turned to a minimum so that he almost didn't even notice the person right next to him fall into seizures.

Eventually, he glanced away from the computer screen when the pilot was dragged away from his seat, leaving their flight to the discretion of air currents. The radio was jammed packed with frantic voices concerned for their coworker, unheard over his muted speakers, while the heading bounced dramatically left and right.

Fushimi reached forward to a knob on a gauge he had seen the pilot turn many times throughout their flight. He assumed from observing its usage that the particular instrument controlled pitch. Ipon his adjustment the chopper dropped abruptly, but then it settled considerably.

Fuse snapped from his post as weapons manager, "What do you think you're trying to do?" He was furriated enough that Fushimi heard him plenty well even without the use of his headset.

"Is anyone going to fly this?" Fushimi shot back.

Back in those days no one had given special thought to the rookie who defected from Homra, and he hadn't made any effort to be known as anything more than a person who did what was asked of him. Not a single one of them thought he would step up to fly a helicopter. He hadn't even received training for it.

At the same time, none of them made a move to rise to the occasion.

With his trademark, dispirited click of his tongue, Fushimi set his laptop in the empty chair and took over the controls. He figured he had a general understanding of what to do from what he'd seen.

Once he had stabilized their path, he contacted clan members on the ground at headquarters. Briefly explaining the situation, he informed them of his intention to drop off the case and return to base as soon as possible. Phrases such as "Affirmative" or "Roger" came straight to mind in response to the base's remarks, yet they refused to flow smoothly from his mouth. He ended up answering with inaudible grunts and focusing every ounce of his attention on following the same patterns he had previously observed.

The approach was steep, and more than once the unbuckled passengers' heads knocked against the ceiling from sudden loss of altitude. Everyone was surprised that the jarring ceased because he successfully brought the bird down to the tarmac after only his second flight. The landing wasn't smooth, by any means. How could it have been when he was completely uneducated in the dynamics of flight of a vehicle so seemingly defiant of physics?

When they reached solid ground, shook up but unharmed, the real pilot was rushed off for immediate medical treatment. Fushimi, still grumpy that the crew had been unprepared and frustrated at his own poor performance, had tried to sulk off pronto. He likely wouldn't admit to it, but the mental drain of piloting had ruffled him significantly. The second-in-command, Lieutenant Seri Awashima, accosted him impedingly.

Fushimi had not yet had much interaction with the Blue King's right hand man. To that point he still felt some hesitation calling Munakata "Captain" rather than "the Blue King," and he still thought of "the lieutenant" only as a "cold hearted woman." Therefore, it was with trepidation that he conceded she had thoroughly blocked his path.

Her presence was imposing as ever as she attempted a gentle smile. "Nicely done Fushimi. You are to be applauded for going above and beyond expectations."

He thought even her compliments were way too formal. Begrudgingly he nodded his acceptance of the commendation and tried to continue on to his dorm room. Awashima remained in his way, however. Her expression hardened.

"Also, in the future request permission before clearing the airspace of the entire Tokyo Metropolitan Region for routine procedures."

"Ma'am," he acknowledged her reproof halfheartedly and waited to be dismissed.

The next day he was removed from regular duties to attend private driving and flying lessons.


End file.
